A True Love Type Thing
by wickedshenanigans
Summary: Do they already have a 'thing? Like an everlasting, True Love, always-find-you (but obviously less nauseating) type thing? Regina and Robin in the vault, the, er, second time. If-ya-know-what-I-mean.


**Happy new year, all! May it bring much OQ happiness (for once)!**

**My gift to queenlocksley, for OQ Secret Santa 2014 over on Tumblr :)**

* * *

She hadn't quite meant for it to go _this_ far.

She'd really meant it when she said it couldn't happen again. She had.

But, God, she had missed him. And she wanted him. And he was here, wanting her, wanting to help her, and cook her breakfast, and wanting _her_. Their time apart had only lessened her capacity to resist his smile, it seemed (he thought about her smile every time he closed his eyes).

He had agreed, at first, they shouldn't let it happen again, but then he kissed her, deeply and passionately, groaning into her mouth like she was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, like she was everything to him (perhaps she could be).

The thing was, being with Robin felt dangerously like happiness. And God knows, she'd never been strong enough to stop herself reaching for happiness before.

And now she's flat on her back on the makeshift bed, still rumpled from their activities the previous night, spreading her knees wide so he can crawl between them. One large hand is exploring under her shirt, the other working on the buttons, his mouth devouring hers, and Regina's not going to stop this any time soon, oh, it is _definitely_ happening again.

"Robin," she sighs, arching her back so he can slide her shirt out from under her back, tossing it to one side. It catches briefly on a shelf (thankfully one without candles) before falling to the floor.

He _hmm_s in reply, his hands full of her breasts now, finding a nipple through her bra and twisting it. She gasps, louder than she'd meant to, but his touch, oh, it _does_ things to her. She tips her head back, pushing her chest out and rocking her hips up encouragingly. He draws back, admiring her, taking in her face and her breasts, then coming back to kiss her soundly on the lips. They explore each other's mouths, tongues sliding around teeth and over one another. They haven't done _this_ in a while, just kissing, long and slow and deep like they have all the time in the world. It's a little harder to feel like that now, and besides, he's got her all lit up and wanting and she never pretended to be a patient woman.

She pulls away from the kiss, earning a grunt of protest from Robin. She takes his hand from where it slid down to her waist and moves it back to her breast. He raises his eyebrows. _Oh really?_

"More," she demands.

His lips quirk into a grin, a stupid, sexy, naughty grin. She has the sudden urge to bite his bottom lip.

"Oh? Well, if you're quite sure… don't let me coerce you, m'lady…"

She does bite his lips then, to shut him up, sharp little nips on both top and bottom. He lets out a low little hum, almost like he's laughing at her, then he's chasing her lips, biting at them in retaliation.

They fight a short battle over it for a minute or two, both chuckling as their teeth click together, trying to steer each other's heads within snapping reach. Regina wins by darting her tongue out to lick his lips, causing his eyes to darken and his fingers to flex, squeezing her breast. He leans down to kiss her, and she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and refuses to let go until he is laughing and letting out muffled pleas for release.

She does release him, giving him a cocky look of triumph.

"More," she says again.

"As m'lady wishes," Robin replies, ducking his head and biting her nipple through her bra.

She lets out a surprised yelp and feels him grin against her, but as far as revenge goes, this is one she's okay with. She watches the top of his head for a moment, gently scritching her fingers through the back of his hair, silently marvelling that he's here at all, determined to love her, wanting them to stay in _this room_ so they can just let the world outside of each other fall away. It amazes her that he wants her like that; brings tears to her eyes if she thinks about it too long.

Luckily, he is puling the cup of her bra down now, licking her bare breast and flicking his tongue back and forth over her nipple, and thoughts unrelated to what he's doing to her cease completely. She closes her eyes, her shoulders and head pressing harder into the bed, _hmmm_s in pleasure. He sucks on her nipple, which is _really, oh, good_, but stops almost as soon as he started, frowning and sliding a finger between her breasts, under the bra.

"I disapprove of you putting this garment back on," he says matter-of-factly, nudging her side to try and get her to turn over so he can reach the clasp. She rolls enough to give him slightly better access, but his fingers are not so nimble when it comes to hook-and-eye clasps, it seems.

"And here I thought you were resourceful," she teases.

"I'm very resourceful," he says indignantly, intent on his task. "Can I help it that my faculties tend to abandon me in your presence? Particularly when you're looking as glorious and tempting as you do right now."

With a final twist and yank, he divests her of the bra, tossing it away and pressing a kiss to the otherwise unattended nipple, then one to the side of her navel. He means to take his time, she knows. To worship her body, kiss and caress every part of her, have her coming and trembling and sobbing his name and coming again; to make love to her. That's what he wants, what he intends, she knows it, danced on the knife's edge of it the previous night even in their frantic, clothes-tearing passion. All of a sudden she can't bear that kind of intimacy, can't bare her soul to him all over again when she has no idea how long this will last. Well, it _won't_ last, she knows that much. It can't. She has to take back some semblance of control if she expects to survive losing him again.

She waves her hand, and just like that, he is naked. He starts and looks down at himself, then frowns at her. She smiles wickedly.

"Hey. That's cheating."

"Never said I played fair, dear."

He turns his attention to her skirt, clearly wanting to even the playing field, but her hands are already wandering, and she stops him short when she takes hold of his cock and squeezes firmly.

He grunts and _Regina_s and she shows her teeth in a satisfied grin. That's more like it.

She squeezes her thighs on either side of his waist playfully, demonstrating how she has him caught, moves her hand slowly over him once, twice. His eyes burn into her. She lets go, brings her hand up to her mouth and runs her tongue languorously, wetly over her palm. He sucks in a breath, growls her name again, and his eyes flutter closed and his mouth drops open when she takes him in hand again. She curls and flexes her wrist, twisting around his girth and moving up and down over his length at the same time. He is _thick_, and _hard_, and God, she is remembering what this felt like, what he felt like inside her and she is already warm and slick between the thighs, she wants him.

She pumps and twists faster, the sound of her wet fist mingling with Robin's low, deep groans. His eyes are half-lidded and the pupils blown wide with arousal.

He is _hers_.

The traitorous thought arrives at the front of her mind before she can stop it. He is not hers and never will be now, no matter what he thinks he can forsake or live with.

He feels like hers, though. Now - with her hand wrapped around his cock and his breath coming in short pants, sometimes punctuated with a curse, or _Gods_, or _Regina_, like even just her hand on him is the best of anything he's ever felt - he feels like hers.

She wants more of that feeling.

She shunts him with her shoulder, pushing him further off her and switching their positions so he is on his back and she is laid out on her side next to him. He's watching her curiously, and his eyes widen when she shuffles further down, when he realises what she's going to do.

"Regina," he starts to say, something chivalrous and noble about how she doesn't have to do this, she's sure, but she's not interested. She knows what she wants, and it's to use her mouth on him until her name is the only word he knows.

She licks up the underside of him first, using the flat of her tongue and being generous with the saliva. She curls her tongue over the head, just a brief pass on her way down the other side. His groan is loud this time, his head flopping back onto the pillows, though he props it up with his arms so he can watch her. Yes, this is good. She feels powerful, and she hasn't even sucked him yet.

She grins up at him, and he bites down on his lip as their eyes meet.

"You are a terrible, wicked woman," he tells her.

"You knew I was evil when you met me," she retorts, and then he is grinning, and she wants to wipe that grin off his face so she licks him again.

She licks thoroughly all over his length, leaving long wet trails up the sides and from his balls, short hard flicks of her tongue against the sensitive join of his foreskin. He gasps and swears at that, his hand finding his way into her hair and pulling almost painfully.

"Sorry," he pants when he realises what he's doing, "I just – Gods, Regina, you are so – that's, uh, good – "

He chokes on the _good_, ending it on a moan as she sucks the head of his cock into her mouth, hard.

She keeps it up for several minutes, alternating sucks and licks, sometimes rolling his balls in her hand, sometimes pumping his cock while she sucks on the head. His moans get longer and louder until eventually he pulls her up and off him, barely able to speak for pleasure, groaning out,

"Stop, you have to – I can't – Gods, you're amazing, I want – "

He kisses her instead of completing the thought, all tongue, ravishing her mouth. She knows what he wants.

He's already reaching under her skirt, fumbling with her pantyhose, not entirely familiar with how they work. He manages to roll them down her legs and she uses her feet to get them the rest of the way off (they weren't a good pair, anyway). Then he is trying to find a way around her skirt, trying unsuccessfully to pull it straight off her, deducing there must be some sort of fastener, feeling around the waistband for it. She stills his hands, covering them with her own, and he is looking at her in question, the haze of lust lifted for a moment as he checks she's all right, that he's not pushing her into something she truly doesn't want.

It's stupid, so stupid and noble and wonderful, she's just had his dick in her mouth and he wants to make sure she still wants this. Her heart swells with love for him, foolish, hopeful heart; it is his, she is his as much as he isn't (could be) hers. He is concerned now, looking her intently in the eyes, looking for whatever has caused her to stop him. He cares so much, her Robin. No one has ever cared enough to check how she felt about something before. He loves her. He keeps finding ways to tell her, and she believes him, maybe she shouldn't, but she does.

She doesn't want to stop him, though. Not in the slightest.

So she simply treats him to a salacious smile and lifts her butt up off the bed, reaching behind her and sliding the zip down, wriggling out of the skirt.

The concern leaves his eyes, he smirks appreciatively, though he pretends to be offended, protesting the lack of faith she has in his ability to undress her.

_Well, I didn't think we had hours to spare_, she shrugs, and he purses his lips and _oooh_s and splays his hands on her upper thighs, telling her that he's going to make her scream, just for that.

His fingers dance around the crease of her thighs, making her squirm, grazing over where she wants him most. She is wet and needy and he makes a noise of appreciation when he dips his fingers into her and finds that they slide smoothly in all the wetness. He pushes them all the way in, then extracts them completely and slips them over her clit. She moans, loudly, wantonly, and his grin is smug and aroused and oh-so-pleased with himself.

"You're so wet, Regina," he tells her, as if she didn't know, but somehow hearing him say it makes her inner muscles clench in desire. "You're so ready for me, aren't you?"

She is, she is, and all she can do is nod and whimper helplessly. He doesn't waste another minute, thrusting his fingers straight up inside and setting a quick, hard, thumping rhythm that has her crying out wordlessly, then there's a thumb on her clit too and oh _God_ that's it, yes, she's so, right there –

Then he stops, and she cries out again, in outrage this time, but he's positioning himself over her and taking himself in hand, skating the tip of his cock through her wetness just once before slamming all the way home.

She's so wet he fills her no trouble at all, and she groans from her toes at the feeling of it. He bends his head down and kisses her, messily, desperately, keeps kissing her face, her neck, her mouth as he starts thrusting in earnest.

She pulls her knees up, wanting him deeper, and almost regrets it because it sends pleasure flaring and sparking through her in uncontrollable flames and she was so close already, she cries out his name, a high, frantic wail, he knocks two more guttural, delirious moans out of her with two more deep, delicious thrusts, and then she's gone, flying, shuddering and shouting her orgasm to the echoing roof of her vault.

He's not quite there yet, and he takes her hard now, prolonging her ecstasy with sharp, fast pumps of his hips, flesh slapping against flesh, panting and grunting towards his own release until finally he grips her hips tight and pushes himself in as far as he will go, coming inside her with a long groan of her name.

They lie there, sprawled all over each other, naked and sweaty and out of breath, just long enough to come down together. Because then her phone buzzes again, and she tiredly summons it to her hand, looks at a text from Snow that has her bolting upright, rushing to get her clothes back on, explaining to Robin that something has happened to Henry and she has to go to him right away. He understands, of course he does, and dresses too, though not as fast as she, tells her he'll see her later and kisses her goodbye as she leaves.

* * *

And though she wasn't sure she believed him, she does see him later, in the library, after a phone call that she wasn't sure what to make of. She still doesn't know what to make of it, but he is so excited, and she's pretty sure it's for her, and that warms her. She's even more sure of it when he pulls out the storybook, and she doesn't know whether to be more annoyed or impressed that he managed to pilfer it without her even noticing. She calls him out on the theft, of course, and he is quick and smart with his answer, echoing her self-satisfied words from earlier,

"You knew I was a thief when you met me."

She can't help but smile, because do they already have a thing? Like an everlasting, True Love, always-find-you (but obviously less nauseating) type thing? Like a couple who get a happy ending in the storybook type thing?

She thinks maybe they do.

She thinks she likes it.


End file.
